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Page 236 - Peace to all such ! but were there One whose fires True Genius kindles, and fair Fame inspires ; Blest with each talent and each art to please, And born to write, converse, and live with ease: Should such a man, too fond to rule alone, Bear like the Turk, no brother near the throne, View him with scornful, yet with jealous eyes, And hate for arts that caus'd himself to rise ; Damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer, And without sneering, teach the rest to sneer...

Page 111 - Touch their immortal harps of golden wires, With those just spirits that wear victorious palms, Hymns devout and holy psalms Singing everlastingly ; That we on earth with undiscording voice May rightly answer that melodious noise ; As once we did, till disproportion'd sin Jarr'd against nature's chime, and with harsh din Broke the fair music that all creatures made To their great Lord, whose love their motion sway'J In perfect diapason, whilst they stood In first obedience, and their state of good.

Page 249 - As shallow streams run dimpling all the way. Whether in florid impotence he speaks, And, as the prompter breathes, the puppet squeaks, Or at the ear of Eve, familiar toad, Half froth, half venom, spits himself abroad...

Page 59 - AWAKE, my St. John ! leave all meaner things To low ambition and the pride of kings. Let us (since life can little more supply Than just to look about us and to die) Expatiate free o'er all this scene of man ; A mighty maze ! but not without a plan ; A wild where weeds and flowers promiscuous shoot, Or garden tempting with forbidden fruit.

Page 205 - Statesman \ yet friend to Truth! of soul sincere, ' In action faithful, and in honour clear ; 'Who broke no promise, serv'd no private end, 'Who gain'd no title, and who lost no friend ; 'Ennobled by himself, by all approv'd, 'And prais'd, unenvy'd, by the Muse he lov'd.

Page 94 - Who for thy table feeds the wanton fawn, For him as kindly spread the flowery lawn: Is it for thee the lark ascends and sings? Joy tunes his voice, joy elevates his wings. Is it for thee the linnet pours his throat ? Loves of his own and raptures swell the note.